


I Would Be The Sunshine

by leiascully



Series: New York AU [2]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-10
Updated: 2009-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lee carries the napkin with Kara's number in his pocket for three days before he calls her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Would Be The Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is more New York AU: Lee and Kara's first date(ish). Title is from that Eric Clapton song. You know it!  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

Lee carries the napkin with Kara's number in his pocket for three days before he calls her. It's one of those Friday springtime afternoons that goes on forever; he's taken a few hours off and screwed up his courage.

"What?" she says when she answers.

"I'm sorry, is this Kara?" he says, almost stuttering.

"The one and only," she says, a scraping noise in the background. "What took you so long?"

"This is Lee," he says, uncertain.

"I know who you are, jackass," she tells him. "You sound like your brother. What's up?"

"I had some time off," he says. "I thought I'd call about your show."

"Took you three days?" she says, still scraping away at whatever. "Show's not for two weeks, by the way."

"I was busy?"

She snorts. "You and Zak are a pair, aren't you? Why don't you come over, since otherwise your itchy little fingers will probably just start translating something all on their own? You can help me with this piece."

"I'm not much of an artist," he begins, and she cackles.

"Just bring your pretty face," she says, and rattles off an address, and hangs up. He changes into chinos and the fancy sneakers that Zak made him buy, grabs his Metro card and his wallet, and is out the door before he can think better of it.

He presses the button outside her apartment and shifts nervously from foot to foot in his stupid sneakers. It's warm enough that he's not wearing a jacket, just a button down over a t-shirt, neither of them as nice as usual because just thinking of her, he knows there's joyous mess in her. Besides, there's no art studio in the world that's clean enough to wear his business clothes to.

"What took you so long?" Her voice is crackly through the speaker.

"How do you know it's me?" he asks.

"I know," she says, "third floor. Make sure that door closes," and the lock thunks open. He hauls the door to behind him and starts up the stairs. If it weren't for that vision of stars, he wouldn't be here. He doesn't take these kinds of risks. He doesn't date girls his brother likes; he doesn't date messy girls; he doesn't date artsy girls. He dates clean, quiet girls who have real jobs.

"God," she says opening the door, "you're slower than Christmas." She drags him in, kisses him on the cheek, and shoves him away, looking him over. Lee's head is spinning. She smirks. "You would dress up."

He looks down his front, fighting for his footing. "This isn't dressed up!" he protests.

"Whatever," she says, sauntering across the room. It's a big room, presumably her studio: one whole wall is covered with slops of paint and twists of metal, and the rest of the room is spattered and scrawled. She turns, props her hands on her hips, and surveys him again, looking from him to the mural. "Take off your shirt."

"I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head, "do what now?" This is exactly why he doesn't date girls like this. He has no idea where he stands. And god, as much as he'd like to see her milky skin gleaming in the good light of her studio, he's not about to take off his clothes or hers before they've even had dinner. He's got Adama manners if nothing else.

"Leland." She fixes him with a glare. He wonders when Zak told her his whole name. "It's not for my personal pleasure. It's for the grand cause of art. Strip."

"No, no, you're gonna have to explain this one." He crosses his arms over his chest. She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Funny. I didn't think it would take that much effort to get you naked."

He blushes. Actually blushes, for the first time since high school. He hopes she can't see it. "Maybe I'm a little less easy than you thought."

She purses her lips and he wants to kiss her so badly that he thinks his heart stops beating for a second, blood suspended between his groin and his brain, losing both battles. "Come on, Lee," she coaxes. "I need an Apollo for my Olympus piece. Don't tell me you've never wanted to be a god. Just model for me for an hour and then we'll go get a drink, okay?"

He strolls over toward her, arms still crossed. "What kind of cut of the profits are we talking?"

"It's art," she counters, "there's no profits." He lifts his chin and looks down at her, as much as he can since she's nearly as tall as he is, and after a moment she surrenders, rolling her eyes. "Fifteen percent and a repeat gig if it sells fast. Okay?" She undoes the top button of his shirt.

"Well," he says, "for art and twenty percent."

"God, Lee, I have to pay rent."

"Maybe you should have called Zak," he teases.

"You called me," she reminds him. "Plus, I'm using Zak for something else. I think he'll make a gorgeous Hades." Apparently he makes a face, because she nudges him in the ribs and kisses him so fast he's not sure he didn't imagine it. "Don't sulk, Lee. He has to wear a big old black robe for it."

"I'm not sure he's not the lucky one," he says, reluctantly undoing another button.

She scoffs. "Please. How often do women ask you to strip? You should be thanking me."

"You just don't quit, do you, Kara Thrace?"

Her smile is full of promises. "I'd get used to it, Lee Adama. Now get your shirt off or I'll lose my light."

He stands there for two hours, shifting in and out of shafts of sunlight and spotlights at her whim, posing for her, occasionally mugging it up until she laughs and scolds him. They go down to Joe's for a drink and a burger; he buys her ice cream from the first Mister Softee van of the season; she kisses him in front of her building and doesn't invite him up. "See ya, Lee," she says softly, brown eyes sparkling and her mouth as sweet as anything he's known.

He walks to the subway station whistling.


End file.
